The Kingdom of Naples From Afar
by italianmagician
Summary: Let's watch a pretty Kingdom as she is. Maybe we'll learn something. Ahh... Isn't she pretty?


A sharp screech and a loud clatter sound frequently in these parts. It's a great place, a poor town but the heart and soul of a powerful kingdom. Well, the kingdom could definitely be powerful, and it really was. More powerful than the duchies and microstates to the north on this peninsula. But this kingdom has a name, of course— the Kingdom of Naples.

And my, was it a great place. Gorgeous scenery, happy people, poor economy but still, nobody really minded. As long as nobody attacked, there would be no problem.

Oh, you're asking about the screech and the clatter. I'm sorry, did I start with that?

Well, my dear child, it goes a little like this;

There is a fine young woman who lives in that castle yonder there. She's very fine, but she's very sharp-tongued and short in both stature and in temper. But mercy me, she's a gorgeous woman, with thick auburn curls and eyes the color of the ocean, lips pink as cyclamens, and skin kissed passionately by the sun. When she moves, it's almost like a cat or a skilled temptress, sleek and lithe and smooth, her chin high and eyes fixed straight ahead. She might be of royal heritage by her behavior, but no. She's simply very proud of herself.

Our fine young woman here is a beautiful Neapolitan by the name of Catalina Romano Vargas. My, what a Spanish name for a Neapolitan, isn't it? Well, that's her own choice. See, Miss Catalina picked her name herself when she was in her third millenium of age.

Yes, Miss Catalina is around 26,000 years old. Crazy, isn't it? And for her to look as if she's only twenty years of age! The Fountain of Youth, you ask? But of course not! She is what her kind like to call a nation. She embodies this glorious kingdom, and she fights for us harder than anyone else ever will. She can do it, she can win for us, she can hold all of us on her shoulders and she does so every moment of her long, long life.

Do you see that swatch of silk rippling in the air, bright blue as a clear sunny sky? Do you see the bright flash of light as pure as a newborn child's soul? Do you see the dogs barking, bouncing around the flash with wagging tails? See that there are three flashes, two right next to each other and one a moment later? That is our lady's axe, and the bright baby blue is the color of our Kings and Queens and People, flying with every strike of her axe on skin, on wood, on water, on ground, with every step to war she takes.

Were you to watch her from afar without knowledge of her identity, she would seem like a dashing young man who is much too serious for his age, but to examine her from up close, you would see the close-cut auburn hair is really luscious chestnut curls tucked up under the hat atop her head, and that the seemingly manly form is really a tempting flow of curves under a military coat. You'd see that the gloved hands really hide away fine, soft hands with slender, graceful fingers and that the high collar of her shirt hides a soft, thin neck covered in scars.

Yes, every inch of her body has scars, nothing excluded. Some would say it's birthmarks, but it truly isn't. It's indeed places where she has been attacked, mauled, torn limb from limb, and yet she still comes back each time and stands taller than ever before.

The sweet whistle of birds beckons us, child. Let us go down to her, to see that bitter angel from closer than any man or woman. We shall see what we shall see. We shall go, we shall see, we shall conquer.

See the way she stands? She stands as though she bears Atlas on her own shoulders, and the sky atop that. Her muscles work together as she swings the axe around, axe, sword, spear. Axe, sword, spear. She's preparing for a fight.

See the design upon her axe, the coat-of-arms of her kingdom, of her people. Is it not intricate? It's the very same design etched multiple times smaller at the base of her spine. Sh, only a very select few know that. You didn't hear from me.

Oh, I fear she's heard us! My bad, but I'm sure you'd love to speak with her for a while.

Tell her her dear little sister to the south says bonu sira, won't you?


End file.
